Wednesday's Words--An Excerpt from The Highwayman Incident

 
This is from the first chapter of my time travel romance, The Highwayman Incident.

Her body hummed with energy. She found the quiet dark relaxing and rhythmic motion hypnotic and soothing. Crickets chirped and a breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere, an owl called out. The clip-clop of the horses…

Wait.

Horses?

Celia’s eyes popped open. She sat in a carriage. An obese woman draped in satin and furs sat directly in front of her, snoring, her mouth ajar.

Celia’s own mouth dropped open. She sat up and took note. Same putrid pink dress. Same pinchy shoes. But the wedding, Mia, her mom and grandmother? All gone. Replaced by a grotesque snoring woman wearing a satin tent.

Celia ran her hands first over the velvet seat cushion, then the burnished wood walls, and finally, the black, smooth drapes. It all felt real.

She must be drunk. Or hallucinating. Had she had too much champagne? No. That drink! That Jason person! He must have put something in her water! But it had looked and tasted like water. Celia ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to find an aftertaste, or a hint of something dangerous.

She drew back the curtain and peered into the night. A brilliant, star-studded sky gazed down on her. No street lights. No lights at all, except for the one bobbing on the front of the carriage. Leaning forward, she craned to see the driver, and saw nothing but a horse’s butt and its swishing tail. As if the animal knew she was watching and he didn’t appreciate her stare, he lifted his tail.

Celia sat back, closed her eyes, and let the cadence sway of the carriage lull her back to sleep. When she woke, she’d be at home in her bed, and she’d never have to wear this dress again.

Crack!

Celia’s eyes flew open. She sat up straight and glanced at the woman across from her. The woman snorted and nestled her double chin into her fur collar. What was that sound? Was the carriage breaking beneath the woman’s weight?

Crack!

Was it gun fire? The carriage lurched, stopping so quickly that the portly lady slid off the seat.

“What the devil?” the woman moaned, righting herself. She gave Celia a narrow-eyed look as if Celia had knocked her off the bench.

Crack!

“Gunshots!” the woman hissed. She pursed her full lips, yanked off an enormous emerald necklace and shoved it at Celia. “Hide this.”

Celia stared stupidly at the jewels. If they were real, she could use them to buy the shop! Wishing she had a pocket, her mind sought options. In her bra? No. The stones were too big and the bodice too tight. Not knowing what else to do, she lifted her skirts and tucked the necklace into the lace garter Mia had insisted all the bridesmaids wear. She patted her skirts back into place just before the door flew open.

“Stand and deliver!” A deep and somewhat familiar voice demanded.

Deliver what? And how could she stand inside of a carriage? Celia crouched in her seat. Slowly, she lifted her head and saw nothing but the silvery end of a gun pointing at her forehead. None of this is real, Celia told herself. It’s the champagne asking me to stand and deliver something. I’ve read one too many Jane Austen novels.

“Come, come, ladies.” The familiar voice sent a tingle down her back.

The man stepped out of the shadows and his gaze met hers, but not an ounce of recognition glistened in his eyes. She thought she knew him, but since a black mask hid half his face, she couldn’t be sure.

“My lady.” He swept his arms in a low bow.

Celia gave the gun another glance. It looked real enough.

He lifted one eyebrow and the corner of his lips in a slow and lazy smile, but continued to point the gun at her forehead.

She tried not to think about the emeralds pinching her leg. She couldn’t look at them. She couldn’t adjust them. She couldn’t call his attention to them in any way.

His gaze traveled over her horrid dress and stopped at her mid-thigh as if he could see through the layers of sateen and frilly slip to the garter smashing the emeralds against her.

“Are you in need of assistance?” He held out his hand—the one not holding a gun—to help her out of the carriage. Again, that trill of recognition poured over Celia. She knew him. Somehow.

She shook her head, knowing she couldn’t touch him. If she touched him and he was real, tangible, then she would…well, she didn’t know what she would do. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

“Are you mute?” he asked, cocking his head. His grin deepened. “Or is my charm rendering you speechless?”

“Have you considered that maybe I’m put off by the gun you’re holding to my head?”

“Ah, so you can speak after all. Pity that. I do love a quiet woman.” He placed his hand on his heart. “Please, my dears, join me.”

But Celia refused to budge, and since her companion cowered behind her, they both stayed in the coach. She stared at his mouth—the only part of his face she could see—other than his eyes. She found both his eyes and lips hypnotizing. Her gaze traveled from one feature to the next, wondering which one she liked the most.

He’s a highwayman! Her inner voice of reason told her. And a figment of your imagination! Those are the best kind of men, she told her reasonable voice.

“I’m sure you understand this is not a social call.” His gaze flicked over Celia and rested on her va-va-voom bodice. “At least, not entirely, although I do enjoy mixing business and pleasure.”

“Where’s Eddie?” the woman barked over Celia’s shoulder. “What have you done with Eddie?”

As she leaned over Celia, Celia’s foot caught on the door’s lip. She would have tumbled and fell if the highwayman hadn’t shot out his arm to steady her. His hand tightened around her, and in one fluid movement, he lifted her out of the carriage and placed her on the ground.

She felt breathless and warm from his sudden, brief contact. Her breath came in ragged huffs. Not knowing whether she was grateful or disappointed when he stepped away, she hugged herself to keep warm.

A snapping twig drew her attention to three men in the shadows. They stood as silent and watchful as the trees. All three had weapons drawn.

“Where’s Eddie?” the woman barked out again.

“Have you hurt the driver?” Celia asked, with a hiccup catching in her throat.

The highwayman flicked his head toward a cluster of trees. “He’s unharmed, except for, perhaps, his sense of self-worth.”

“What is your name?” the woman whispered.

“My name?” Celia asked, her voice coming out in a surprised squeak.

“Not your name, you goat head! I know your name.”

Funny, because Celia had no idea who this woman was.

Or who Celia was to her. Celia wondered what her name might be, or her role, or position. Was she a maid? A paid companion? A relation? She shivered, and told herself that she needed to wake. This dream had gone on way too long already. She should have come-to as soon as she saw the gun. That’s what normally would have happened. Nightmares typically ended with a major scare.

She tried pinching herself. It hurt, but not enough to wake her.

The woman fixed her attention on the highwayman. “Who are you?”

“Why would he tell you that?” Celia asked, more than a little stung at being called a goat head.

The man chuckled. “You do not need my name, but I do need your valuables.”

Quiet descended, and Celia took note of the clamor of crickets, the hooting owl, and a nearby tumbling river. Country night sounds—so foreign in Connecticut and usually masked by the roar of constant traffic on the nearby parkway.

“Do you really need them, or do you just want them?” Celia asked.

“What difference should that make?” he asked.

“It makes a very big difference—it’s the difference between greed and—”

He waved his gun in her face, effectively silencing her. “That ring, if you please,” he said to the woman.

Celia watched, wondering what her companion would do.

Slowly, the woman batted her eyes, looking unsure.

The horses stamped their feet impatiently and shook their reins. For a second, Celia thought about jumping on one and riding away. But then she remembered she knew nothing about horses, their massive size terrified her, and getting one loose from the carriage might be tricky. Besides, even if it wasn’t real, the gun looked like it might be, which meant that the bullet might possibly feel real, and she didn’t like pain—real or imaginary.

The woman drew the ring off her finger. “I have a reticule in the carriage,” she told the man. “If you’d like, I’ll give it to you.”

The man barked a laugh. “Not likely.” He motioned to one of the henchmen, his gaze never leaving the two women. “Search the carriage. Tell me if you find any hidden pistols.”

Celia slid a quick glance at the woman, wondering if she was cunning or just stupid.

The second man passed by. He smelled unwashed and earthy. The woman reached out and shoved Celia into him. “Take her!”

The man stumbled under Celia’s sudden weight, but the highwayman reached out and caught her in his arms. He drew her to him and held her close. She felt safe there, although she knew she shouldn’t.

“Hold her hostage! Kill her if you must!” The woman clambered into the coach and slammed the door.

Celia fought to breathe. She knew she had to leave, she knew that staying pressed up against the highwayman was stupid. He had his hand on her belly, his fingers splayed across her. He smelled of cloves, and when he spoke, his breath warmed her.

“That was most unkind.” He sounded surprised and disapproving.

The second man scrambled after the woman and flung open the door. Amid the screams, the carriage rocked back and forth.

“I won’t harm you,” the highwayman whispered, his lips brushing against her hair.

Celia glanced at the gun. In the moonlight, it looked very real and very lethal. Almost as devastating as the man holding her in his arms.

He shifted, bringing her in front of him. In one quick moment, he captured her lips.

Celia’s knees buckled. Her thoughts raced back to all those Regency romance novels of her grandmother’s that she had read as a girl. Georgette someone. Hideous, Horrendous, no, Heyer. Yes, that was it. Georgette Heyer. What would Georgette call this? A seduction? A ravishing? Oh my gosh! That was it! She was being ravished by a rake!

Wake up! her mind screamed. No more kissing!

Oh, but it felt so good. So very, very good.

Panic gripped her. Breaking loose, she ripped off his mask.

Jason West stood in a pool of moonlight, gun dangling at his side. Surprise filled his eyes. He touched his lips, clearly dazed. Taking two steps back, his gaze shifted to the dark, shadowy woods. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “I have erred.”

And with those parting words, he turned and disappeared into the forest.

#

Celia lifted her head off the table, dazed. She must have fallen asleep. How embarrassing. She checked the tablecloth to make sure she hadn’t been drooling. It felt dry. What if she had snored? She cast a nervous glance around.

The party continued as if she had never left/slept. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the band was even playing the same song. That wasn’t possible. The dream seemed longer than a few seconds, more than a few minutes even. But no one was looking or staring at her.

Becca was chatting up some guy over by the bar. Lacey had her arms wrapped around someone wearing a purple bow-tie and they moved to the music. Celia twisted and caught the gaze of Jason West.

Flushing, she looked away. Touching her cheeks, she tried to quell the heat flaming her face. So grateful no one, and by no one she meant Jason West, could read her thoughts, Celia slipped off her pinchy shoes and fled.

Later, she would have to try to explain her sudden departure to her mom and sister. But there were some things she would never be able to explain. Or understand.

Like the garter pressing something sharp into her upper thigh.

The Highwayman Incident is free in Kindle Unlimited

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